


Just A Marionette

by ChaoticMimzy



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, I'll Update As I Go, Lucifer might make an appearance?, M/M, Magic, Multi, Pay attention to the tags, Pregnancy, Satanism, Slow Burn, nihil is the worst dad in the entire world fight me, papa ii isn't as much of a dick as you think he is, papa iii is a fucking terror, there's a lot of OCs in here too I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticMimzy/pseuds/ChaoticMimzy
Summary: The Abbey was old- older than one would think, with the aged stone still standing, reinforced with iron and steel in the early twentieth century. It’s halls held hundreds of stories- of secret rendezvous, of heartbreak and horror, of joy and the wail of babies. Papa Emeritus II is the new head of the Abbey; Papa Nihil has a plan put into motion. Sister Imperator plots in the shadows. Prime Mover Dahlia just wants to survive, by any means necessary. Even if that means watching the one she loves- die.





	1. Prequelle

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a fic for Ghost for a WHILE, but I didn't know how to go about it until recently when I realized that there isn't much lore surrounding the Prime Movers. Majority of this fic relies on my own headcanons and lore building I've done with friends (hi max & nicky). Please pay attention to the tags, as I will update them regularly with any sort of possibly triggering content that may be in here- which there definitely will be (hard pregnancies, character death, blood, guts, smut)- fun times.  
I will use a few of the names the fandom has given to certain characters, but others I will use my own. You'll see what I mean.  
Anywho- enjoy the prologue and the following first chapter!  
...  
I don't have a regular update schedule I'm sorry.

_"Il Padre, Il Filio, et Lo Spiritus Malum,_   
_Omnis Caelestis delenda est, Anti Cristus…"_

* * *

The Abbey was old- older than one would think, with the aged stone still standing, reinforced with iron and steel in the early twentieth century. It’s halls held hundreds of stories- of secret rendezvous, of heartbreak and horror, of joy and the wail of babies. The old stone keeps the stories to themselves, an ever breathing, living creature that shall never speak, but will continue to watch and listen. It’s within this very Abbey that our story takes place.

The Abbey was erected sometime in the twelfth century, the date recorded within the animal hide bound codex within the bowels of the library that very few have ever laid eyes upon. There are those who might yet remember the first stone being laid, though they may not answer if you ask them, “Brother, were you here when they broke ground?” or “Sister, did you watch them build the first spire?” No, for they are not mere Siblings of the Church, but rather, they are the Church in and of itself. Their footsteps are silent, their movements hidden by shadow. 

Ghouls, they are. Old, powerful, some of the first summoned that still remain to haunt the halls.

This Abbey is not a Catholic Abbey, nor is it a Christian worship, or Baptist, Hindu, Voodoo, Buddhism. No, it is none of these; it is much older; many would claim for it to be more sinister than any other religion. No, the practiced religion that surrounds the old sprawling stone Abbey revolves around Him, The Morning Star, the Fallen One, His Unholiness-

Lucifer. 

The air pulses with magic, the grounds nothing short of Unhallowed. The Siblings are no choir boys or holy, abstained nuns; they indulge in the pleasures of the flesh as much as the next sinner, enjoy material things and live life to the fullest. They pray daily and take confession every Wednesday; Unholy Mass takes place every Sunday at twelve a.m. sharp. Siblings attend classes in the ancient tongue, learn of the different variations of purgatory in religions, and give praise to the six princes of Hell and their king, Lucifer. Mammon, who had been given the sin of Greed in Catholicism; Asmodeus, who had been given the sin of lust; Leviathan, who represented envy; Beelzebub, with the sin of gluttony; Satan, with the unholy wrath of all of Hell behind him; and Belphegor, the sloth. 

The Church held a man at the head of it all, given the title of Papa. And beside every Papa would stand a Sister Imperator- to aid them on the spreading of the unholy word of their Lord and Saviour, Lucifer. Behind them would sit the Clergy, eager to bow and bend to the Papa’s very will, eagerly lapping at the wine of his words. Below the Clergy stood the ever strong, never wavering Ghouls, creatures summoned from the pits of hell that held more intelligence than the common demon, who could take the form of a human via Glamour. They were the true backbone of the Church, the standing army; they could bend the elements to their will, should they choose. 

Beneath them stood the masses, the Siblings of Sin: men and women, boys and girls who had found sanctuary within the Abbey and in the glow of the Morning Star. Here, they were safe, no longer turned away from temptations deemed damnable by the Christian God. They could live their lives freely in service of the Church, where their so-called “sins” would not be punished, but rather, embraced- there were limits, of course. Children were to be raised with a gentle, loving hand, spoken to with soft words and given praise freely; never would they feel the harsh sting of a slap or the unwanted touch of an adult.

Allow us to backtrack for a moment, for there is yet another group within this Abbey that we have not yet spoken of. They are a revered few, set aside and taught the ancient texts, the Eleven Earthly Laws, the way of the inner workings of the Church. They learn how to hold themselves with pride. They learn how to birth a child, how to swaddle them, how to care for them. They are the Prime Movers: a select group of women (and some men, more recently) that serve the purpose of carrying the Papas children. Each member holds enough percentage of demonic blood (twenty percent) within their veins- enough to ensure that the line of the Papas remains pure. 

Certain Prime Movers are set aside, purely reserved for a specific Papa, while others are open to be chosen by high ranking Clergy members. They, alone, are the life of the Church. Without a Prime Mover, the Church’s line of succession cannot continue. Each Papa has been born of a Prime Mover (save for a select few, in which their matron was handsomely paid and sent away).

Prime Movers are kept aside, carefully monitored; on occasion, a bastard will be born, though these are also few and far between. 

Our story begins with a birth and a death.


	2. Like a Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birth, a death, and a haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for pregnancy/death in the first few paragraphs. Sorry- but welcome to the first official chapter! We meet the leaders of the church, a Brother of Sin, a few Sisters of Sin, and the Prime Mover, Dahlia.   
I hope you all enjoy this first chapter; I'll be posting the next one sometime next week. I make no promises on a regular uploading schedule.   
You can find me at: https://fakexface.tumblr.com , where I will scream about Ghost and post updates on this fic, some headcanons, drabbles, etc.   
Thank you for reading!

_Like a doll_

* * *

The storm raged on outside of the old Abbey, the stones standing strong and still, though the windows rattled with each crash of thunder. The trees swayed and groaned from the gale-like winds that whipped and twirled through them, threatening to rip the old oaks straight out of the ground at times. Somewhere within the forest, lightning struck a tree,resulting in an echoing, ever-building _crackling_ that filled the air. The tree was branded, then; bark exploding off, revealing the pale wood of the inside to the earth’s elements. Beside it, the river ran strong, current wild with the flooding waters from the torrent of water falling from the sky. Well over its banks, it threatened to overtake the treeline any moment now. 

Within the Abbey, screams pierced the night. The Infirmary was busy; Siblings bustling here and there, carrying trays of bloodied water and wet towels. The woman on the bed strained, her face pale, sweat damp bangs sticking to her forehead. Another scream tore free from her throat. Beside her stood her spouse, a young man in Bishop’s robes whose hand was gripped in a bone-grinding hold as she strained once more. 

“Almost there, lass!” The nurse, a handsome man in his late thirties, urged her. His face was grim; she’d lost so much blood already, and the baby was just barely crowning. “Just a wee bit more!”

A woman stood back, her hair grey streaked, her face just barely showing hints of her age; crows feet nestled at the corners of her eyes, laugh lines settled along the sides of her mouth. She wore a black long sleeved blouse, tucked into a black pencil skirt. Pantyhose covered her legs, and on her feet sat a pair of black kitten heels. Her hands here grasped before her, and her lips were set into a firm, thin line. Her light eyes, rimmed with a dark shadow, took in the all-too familiar scene before her. “She will not make it,” she murmured to the elderly man beside her. 

The man hummed in agreement, his normally cheerful expression swept away. His face bore face paint cracked by movements of the face; a mimicry of a skeleton painted in white and black. He stood with the aid of a walking stick, his grip, white-knuckled. He wore elegant robes of white and gold, inlaid with ancient symbols and embroidered with a golden Grucifix. “No,” he agreed with a shake of his head as another cry sounded out, “she will not.”

“_Push!_” The male nurse urged, brows pinching as the baby finally crowned. The rest of the body followed quickly, and a warbling cry of an infant filled the air as thunder cracked. “Sister Elizabeth, quickly,” a flurry of motion, the baby was grabbed and taken away, covered in amniotic fluid and blood. 

“He certainly has a pair of lungs,” Sister Imperator murmured, watching idly. Back on the bed, the woman was pushing yet again. “The placenta.”

“She’s lost too much blood.” Papa Nihil Emeritus shook his head, turning away to instead focus on the baby. “He is strong, healthy?” He asked the Sister, who gave a quick nod as she cleaned the baby off.

“Yes, Papa.” She replied with a quick smile.

“Brother Ronan!” A petite Sister cried as the woman’s eyes rolled back. “She’s going, she’s going!”

“Quickly now, start palpitations!” Ronan yelled.

The Bishop was pulled away from his lover. “Wait- no, no! Maria! Maria, please!” He cried, even as the Ghouls lifted him from the ground to pull him away, giving the Siblings plenty of room to work. “Maria!”

“Let them work, Bishop!” Sister Imperator hissed as they joined the crying Bishop, who didn’t know where to place his attention: on his newborn son, or on his lover. “Look, your son! He is strong, healthy!” The baby released another warbling cry. “Loud. Strong lungs- perhaps a future singer, yes?”

“That…” Bishop Laurent hesitated, eyes widening as the baby was swaddled and placed into his awaiting arms. He froze up, breath halting as he gazed down at his son. “He has my eyes,” he whispered, a smile curling his lips. “Maria, Maria, he has-”

His gaze drew away from the baby to where his lover lay.

The Siblings were backing away.

Ronan’s head shook slowly; silver lined his eyes as blood dripped from his hands. “Bishop Laurent… Your Prime Mover, Maria… Her body could not handle the stress. She lost too much blood, we cannot find a pulse, her heart…”

Laurent’s eyes filled with tears, which spilled over onto flushed cheeks. His lip trembled. The same sister that had informed Ronan of Maria’s fading life quickly walked over, plucking the baby from the Bishop’s hands before he collapsed to his knees onto the pristine white floor of the infirmary. The floor beneath the bed was slick with fresh blood. 

“I’m so sorry, Bishop. I did… I did everything I could. The pregnancy was rough on her; she was straining. Her heart gave out.”

Sister Imperator watched the scene unfold before she slid her arm into the crook of Papa Nihil’s, the pair silently taking their leave. Her gaze lingered upon the lifeless body of the Prime Mover, a part of her aching for the woman. Eleven months, she’d carried the babe, only to pass on before she could even hold it. A shame, truly. 

“You are quiet, Sister,” Nihil noted as they walked through the dark halls of the Abbey. Siblings were within their rooms for the night, the hour far later than their curfew allowed for them to walk among the halls. “What is on your mind?”

Sister Imperator sighed, watching as lightning lit up the night sky. “Your bastard.”

A snort of amusement sounded from the man beside her. “Cain.”

“Yes, him,” she nodded slowly, helping Nihil ascend the stairs that lead up to the Papal rooms. “He will be taking the role of Papa soon, yes?”

“Yes, as soon as he returns from the conference. Why do you ask?” Nihil replied as they paused upon a landing. His breath came in long, slow pulls. He was certainly not getting any younger, sadly. 

Sister Imperator hesitated, glancing down the stairs they’d just walked. “He will need to take on a Prime Mover. One that he will… Hopefully approve of, this time.”

Nihil hummed, his head tilting as he looked up at the ceiling, hidden by shadows. “There is one I have in mind.”

“Do you?” She mused, a brow raising as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Mind telling me who?”

“You will see come morning.” Nihil replied, beginning to ascend the stairs once more. Just one more level. “She will be meeting you in your office at nine.” His voice echoed down the stairwell as Imperator watched him ascend, amusement coloring her features. 

“You and your hidden agendas,” she murmured to herself as she turned and made her way down the hallway. Once, they had shared a bedroom. Not any longer; she wouldn’t admit it out loud, but a distance had grown between them in these last ten or so years. No matter. She kept her chin high as she stood before her door, unlocking it with practiced ease. One step in, turn on the heel, close and lock the door. 

Her gaze drifted across the small front room that served as her office, taking note of the man who sat in one of the two plush chairs before her desk. She ignored him, instead crossing over to a lamp, switching it on to give the room some more light. Papers settled in three neat stacks upon her desk in order of importance. 

The man shifted, fiddling with the edges of a biretta he’d removed from his head. Newly appointed as a Bishop, he was. Her gaze trailed up, taking in the light brown hair just barely showing any sign of age, a gray strand here or there; heterochromatic eyes with dark shadows beneath both that did not meet her gaze. He remained silent, waiting.

“The birth was a success and a failure; Prime Mover Maria did not survive, but the baby did.” She informed the Bishop, her voice soft, a hint of mourning lingering just below the surface. “The child is male, favoring his father. He lacks the mark.” 

The Bishop leaned forward, brows furrowing. “And the Prime Mover?”

“The Prime Movers’ body is being taken to the morgue- for you to examine. I need you to figure out what exactly went wrong, Bishop Copia.” She settled down into a large, ancient chair that had seen far better days. The gears squeaked and squealed as she leaned forward, her elbows resting upon the top of an old, yet well cared for, mahogany desk. “Brother Ronan claims that her heart gave out, which could very well be true, given Prime Mover Maria’s health was not the best during the pregnancy. But I need to know, before we put another girl through this horrible experience.”

“Does Papa Ni-” The Bishop began, only to be silenced with a look. “Of course not. My apologies, Sister.”

“He’s chosen one for Cain already. Who it is- I do not know. I expect you to be with Brother Ronan tomorrow while the examination is done on her.”

Bishop Copia startled at that, his eyes widening. “You wish for me to be there?”

“You, Copia, are the one person within this entire Abbey that I can trust irrevocably,” Sister Imperator replied as she leaned back in her chair, listening to the gears scream in protest. “So yes, I want you there.”

The Bishop quickly stood, nodding and giving a small bow. “Of course, Sister. I will be there.”

“Thank you. You’re dismissed now,” she turned her attention away as a bolt of lightning struck ground somewhere within the forest, the following thunder crash loud enough that the window behind her rattled in its frame. 

When she looked back, Bishop Copia was gone, and she was alone.

* * *

The sound of scissors slowly cutting through hair filled the bathroom. A young woman sat upon a chair that had been dragged in, her eyes closed as her hair was trimmed up. Her hair was a shade of red so dark, it looked nearly black in the shoddy lighting. Previously, it had fallen nearly to her hips. Now, it was cut in a princess style, the longest layers falling to mid-back. The sides had been feathered, framing her face in a delicate fashion. 

The woman cutting her hair was older, if only marginally so, yet held an air about her that made her seem well beyond her years. Her hair was bleached, the shade nearly silver, and fell in a harsh line just below her chin. It suited her, as did the septum piercing and the tattoos that trailed down the entirety of one arm in a sleeve. Neither one spoke for a good while, not until the one with the tattoos finished with the other’s hair. 

“There!” She spoke, a smile curling her lips, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “All cut and ready for tomorrow.”

“Thank you for doing this, Sister Sylvia,” the other replied, running her fingers through her freshly cut hair. “I’d been meaning to do it for a while, but I just hadn’t had the time, what with preparations for… For tomorrow.” 

“It’s nothing, ma’am.” Sylvia replied with a shake of her head as she set aside the scissors and began to wash off her hands. “I like doing hair. Honestly, if I hadn’t joined with the Church eight years ago, I probably would have become a hair dresser.”

“Do you do you own hair, then?” She asked as she turned in the chair, jade hues studying the petite woman curiously. 

“Yes, ma’am,” came the short answer before Sylvia caught herself. “I’ve dyed it almost every color of the rainbow at this point, I think. I’ve had blue, purple, pink, red, orange, black- my hair’s naturally black. It’s a process- I let my roots grow out a lot before I even bother fixing them. If they’re too bad, I’ll just veil until I can bleach them. What about you, Prime Mover Dahlia?” 

“Just-,” she shook her head, “just Dahlia, please. I’ve never liked that full title. Too stuffy.” She rose from the chair and stretched, her back popping with the movement. “I don’t think I’ve ever dyed my hair? It’s always just been like this,” she gestured to her hair, a shrug pulling her shoulders up. 

“Really?” Sylvia reached forward, her brows furrowing as she took in the color. “I know many salons that would _kill_ to have this color…” 

The sound of footsteps had the pair separating, with Sylvia gathering up the supplies she’d brought with her. The hair on the floor would be swept up soon. A silver mask appeared in the doorway, a pair of bright blue eyes peering at the pair. “Prime Mover Dahlia, it’s time to return to your room.” The Ghoulette spoke softly, her voice sweet despite the demonic metal mask she wore. 

“Of course,” Dahlia sighed, glancing towards Sylvia. “Thank you for this, Sister. I apologize for not being able to remain and help clean…”

Sylvia waved a hand, shrugging. “I’ve gotta trim my own hair up, anyway. Have a good night, madame!” 

Prime Mover Dahlia left the bathroom and Sister behind, following after the short Ghoul. Her name was Cumulus, if she remembered correctly; summoned well over a hundred years ago. She was sweet, kind. There were whispers of her possibly being chosen to join with the prestigious band Ghouls. 

“Your hair looks nice like that,” Cumulus spoke up, breaking the silence as they crossed slipped through the halls. It was late; somewhere, a scream echoed faintly. The pair paused, listening.

“Prime Mover Maria went into labor earlier,” Dahlia murmured, pressing a hand to her lips. “Oh, the poor dear.”

Cumulus shuddered, shaking her head. “C’mon- let’s get you to your rooms. We’ll have to take the long way around, through the Cathedral. The storm’s too bad to even attempt to go through the courtyard.” 

Dahlia glanced towards the windows, watching as rain splattered against the glass. “To the Cathedral we go.”

The Abbey was large, sprawling across a field; the cathedral was the oldest piece of the Abbey, domed and large, with an ornate organ piano tucked back into the back wall. Much like Catholic churches, the walls and ceilings were painted- not with Heaven, but with Hell. The Six Princes of Hell, Lucifer himself; the acoustics were wonderful, and during Rituals, the sound of the choir and the band and the organ would all mix together wonderfully. 

The cathedral was easily Dahlia’s favorite place within the Abbey. 

Quietly, they slipped in, careful not to disturb anyone who could be within, praying to His Unholiness for guidance. Cumulus was a few steps ahead of her when Dahlia noticed a man kneeling at the front, before the statue of Baphomet. Her steps hesitated as she studied the man curiously; he wore a suit of black, obviously expensive- that much she could tell even from half an isle away-, his head, shaven clean, bowed low. 

He rose, and turned, and she found her steps faltering for a moment. She couldn’t see his eyes behind dark sunglasses, but his face, the harsh frown, the furrowed brows- she could see clearly. 

She swallowed roughly, ducking her head low as she quickly walked to keep up with Cumulus. She could _feel_ his eyes on her as they walked, her heels a sharp staccato note with each step. And then- silence, the door closing behind her. If Cumulus had noticed, she hadn’t mentioned anything to her. Instead, she hurried along, tail flickering to and fro like an amused feline’s. “Your heart beat is _awfully_ quick, madame.”

“Hush.” Dahlia muttered, shaking her head as she quickened her steps to overtake Cumulus. She could hear the little Ghoulette snickering to herself. 

Who had that been? It was not Papa Emeritus the First; he had hair. Nihil was not so young. The youngest Emeritus, Dante, was still… Young. He was just reaching Bishop status himself. The Second was rumored to be returning; she hadn’t seen him in many years.

Were those rumors true?

“I’ll bid you goodnight, madame.” Cumulus had stopped in the archway; Dahlia skidded to a stop and spun on her heel, eyes widening. Right. Ghouls, no matter the reason, were not allowed within the Prime Movers’ wing. 

“Goodnight, then, Cumulus. Thank you for escorting me today,” Dahlia gave a little bow, dark tresses falling across her shoulders. Cumulus bowed at the waist before turning on her heel and beginning to make her way back, humming a little tune, a pep in her step. 

Dahlia stood in the archway for a moment longer, watching the Ghoulette disappear into the shadows of the hall. She worried her lip before turning and continuing on her journey. The stairwell to the left of her led up to the private nursery, where the children who were brought into the Abbey to become Prime Movers were kept. Currently, there was one toddler, and three school-aged children. Dahlia didn’t spend much time with them; she was busy preparing for the meeting with Sister Imperator in the morning, and meeting with whoever it was that Papa Nihil had chosen for her. 

Her door was unlocked; she’d left it that way. None of them really ever locked their doors. Ghouls lurked along the exterior entrances, and she knew very well that even if she had appeared alone within that archway after Cumulus had left, she was not. They were there, hiding in the shadows, ever alert. 

The bedroom was truthfully more like a small studio apartment, with a bed shoved against the far wall, a full sized bathroom tucked away behind a door, and a kitchenette on the opposite side of the room. There was a large bookcase, holding books that ranged from history textbooks to fictional books to a few books that pertained to rituals and rites, things she’d had to learn growing up. 

A sigh left her as she collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the stone ceiling. An elaborate chandelier hung in the center of the room, casting shadows upon the deep emerald walls. It was late, late enough that she couldn’t possibly think of slipping out to make a trip to the kitchens to steal a bite of zucchini bread. Sleep wouldn’t be coming for her anytime soon- not with the knowledge that Prime Mover Maria had gone into labor, or the nerves on her meeting in the morning. 

Her mind wandered to the man in the cathedral. Was he a visiting Clergy member? It wasn’t as if the Clergy members couldn’t ever leave- and there were other chapters of the Church spread across the world. Perhaps that’s why he was here, visiting from another Abbey?

Rubbing a hand across her face, a yawn tore free from her. Sleep. She needed to sleep. She needed to change into a nightgown and sleep, at least for a few hours. Yet, she didn’t even make it as far as getting off of the bed before sleep had claimed her mind, bringing forth images of a man in Papal paint, whose robes were black and emerald.


	3. No Will At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings, hard feelings, teasings.  
Daddy Issues.  
Ghouls are just giant cats, fight me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no warnings here. Just a lot of feels. I'm surprised by the positive reception this has gotten so far? Thank you all for reading this! I have the next five or so chapters plotted out, which is good.  
You can find me at https://fakexface.tumblr.com where I scream about Ghost and Sally Face and other random things.   
Thank you!

_A puppet with no will at all_

* * *

The Abbey hadn’t changed in the years he’d been gone. America had been the place he’d called home the past ten or so years, working with the Abbeys that spread across the states. The New York Abbey was flourishing, the New Orleans Abbey completely renovated, and the Los Angeles Abbey was still the same. Much like how Sweden’s hadn’t changed, not outwardly. There had been new wards set in place, the tingle of magic washing over his skin as his car had driven up the paved road to the Abbey proper. 

Night had fallen by the time he’d reached the Abbey, and with it came a storm for the books. The lightning danced across the sky as thunder rumbled in a nearly continuous roll. He didn’t get wet, though; the cadillac pulled into the garage, the engine dying as a new flash of lightning struck ground, the harsh _crackle_ echoing through the air. He paused, halfway out of the car, to count. _‘One one-hundred, two one-hundred, three-’_ thunder roared, loud and clear, the ground shaking beneath his feet. 

That struck within the forest surrounding the Abbey. Close. Too close.

Brow raising, he turned from the car and shut the door before giving the driver a short nod. The Ghoul nodded back, a deeper tilt of the head than he had bothered with. His footsteps were sharp staccatos in the evening. As he entered the hallway, he paused, listening- it was early enough that Siblings still wandered the halls, but late enough that dinner had long since ended. He could hear someone talking farther down the hall, their voice soft. Voices always did carry in these halls, even the softest ones. 

He did not go to his father’s office. No doubt he had already been told that he’d arrived by one of his many little spies that hid within the Abbey. Instead, he turned, heading towards the private quarters of his older brother. That was his priority; he’d always been more of a father to him than Nihil had. Then again, he wasn’t supposed to even exist, he mused silently. All because his father couldn’t keep it in his pants, and there was no way to dispel a pregnancy safely back then. 

The halls were still the same in this part of the Abbey, the stone still arching high above his head, giving way to intricate carvings within the old oak of the ceiling. The floors were still shining marble, flecks of gold still catching any hint of light that was given. The portraits still hung upon the wall of family long since past. Torches still sat in their holders, the flames flickering in the dark. The door at the end of the hallway was shut; two Ghouls stood before it, dressed in pristine white robes, their white masks not giving anything away. Yet, he knew these two. 

Aer and Terra. Two of his brother’s. They were two of the oldest Ghouls that remained within the Abbey, their contracts not yet over. They parted for him, with Aer opening the door silently. He nodded his thanks and stepped into the warm bedroom within. 

The door closed behind him with a _‘click’_. He stood still for a moment, taking in the large bedroom- the four poster bed that stood in the center, the headboard pushed against the wall. The large fireplace that crackled and popped in the corner. The chairs that sat before them, and the man who sat in one. There was a cat sitting on the arm of the chair, it’s tail swaying slowly, pleased with the warmth. He knew there were other animals lingering within the room out of sight. 

Vergil always did love animals, and animals always loved him. 

“You are back quickly,” Vergil spoke, breaking the silence. Cain let a smile curl his lips as he removed his hat and made his way over. He set his hat on the back of Vergil’s chair as he rounded the side and knelt before his older brother.

“Fratellone, I am here.” Cain spoke 9softly as he took in the sight of his older brother. The years had taken a toll on him; he looked far older than he was, older than Nihil himself most likely. But that’s what happened when you became Papa.

When you dabbled in magick. 

“You still do not let your hair grow?” Vergil asked, his brows furrowing. He looked like a man in his sixties, his hair graying, wrinkles settling in the corners of his eyes. “I thought you would have let it grow by now, fratellino.”

Cain scoffed, shaking his head. His skin was still smooth, though his brows still pinched in. Eternally angry; Vergil remembered when he was but a boy, and his hair was honey brown and long, and his laugh was loud and infectious. 

Those days were long past.

“Come, sit. Do not kneel- I am not Papa, not any longer.” Vergil waved a hand idly; Cain noticed the way it held a slight tremor to it. He obeyed, rising to his feet and moving over to the other chair, sinking down into the plush cushion. So long it had been since he’d sat here. Too long, he realized with a slight pain in his chest. “You realize why you have been called back?” Vergil spoke once Cain seated himself, his gaze never leaving the flames.

“Because you are stepping down?” Cain replied with his own question, lips pursing. 

“Because I am stepping down,” Vergil agreed, a bitter smile curling his lips. “I cannot do what needs to be done, not any longer. It is… Difficult, yes? On these old bones.”

“You are not old. Nihil is old.” Cain shot back, lip curling up in a sneer.

“Father is old. He is growing older by the day. As is the new Sister Imperator. But you are not here to talk of them. You are here because you know what will come in the morning.”

Cain grimaced, sinking lower into the seat. “They will want to place me with a Prime Mover.”

“They _will_ place you with a Prime Mover,” Vergil corrected gently, a sigh leaving his lips. “You cannot turn this one away, Cain. They will not allow, and you know it.” Cain opened his mouth to argue, but Vergil cut him off with a sharp shake of the head. “You know very well that Nihil will not allow you to dawdle any longer. An heir must be produced. I could not- there were… Troubles with my Prime Movers. And Dante- he is still young.”

“Dante should never become Papa,” Cain snorted, rolling his eyes, “he is much too, eh- his his is too far in the clouds, yes? That is the saying. His head is in the clouds.” 

“He is young still.” Vergil countered, a smile curling his lips. “You should visit with him. He will be excited to see you.”

“Will he?” Cain sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “The last time I saw him, he was very angry with me.”

“That was years ago, fratellino.”

Cain sighed, shaking his head. “He said he hated me. That was the last time we spoke…” His voice trailed off as memories of that night filtered back in. 

_“You cannot leave us!” Dante exclaimed, eyes wide as he watched his fratellone pack his bags in a hurry. “You- what will happen if Vergil is injured? Or if Father-”_

_“He is your father, Dante. He is not mine. He will never be my father. He cares not for me.” His voice was tired; he was tired. _

_“You cannot leave me! Or Vergil!” Dante tried once more, his brows furrowing. “Why? Why do you leave?”_

_“Because Nihil has made it very, very clear,” Cain began as he paused in his packing, his eyes narrowing, “that I am not welcome here.”_

_“Fuck what he says!” Dante stomped his foot, his arms crossing over his chest. It made Cain pause, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at his younger brother. “You can stay! I say so!”_

_A sigh escaped Cain as he walked over, pulling his younger into a tight embrace, a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. “I wish it were that simple, frate,” he murmured, eyes closing for a moment._

_Dante huffed, his arms wrapping around Cain’s waist, his face pressing into his chest. “I hate you.” He stated softly._

_Cain didn’t reply as the pair remained in an embrace._

“Either way,” Vergil’s voice cut through his memories, “you need to go see him. Preferably before you go and see Papa Nihil.” 

“I am here to see you first.” Cain was stubborn- he’d always been stubborn. He reached over, brows pinching as he settled a hand over Vergil’s own. “Your health…”

“It is fine. I am just old, and the magick has taken a toll on me.” He replied with a hearty  
chuckle. “You need not worry about me.” 

“I always worry for you.” A shrug. “I want you to be safe.”

“I am the one who needs to worry. Nihil is doing this as his-”

“Last resort, I know.” Grimacing, his gaze turned to the flames. “I would not be here unless it was absolutely necessary.”

The old grandfather clock sounded; it was nine at night. The Siblings would be retiring to their rooms within the next thirty minutes. He would need to be quick if he were to visit Dante tonight. 

“Go.” Vergil ordered softly, gaze finally turning to study his younger brother. “I will still be here come morning.”

Cain rose from the chair with a soft sigh, leaning over to press a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “You better be,” he warned teasingly. 

“Yes, yes. Let an old man rest!” Vergil teased right back, chuckling as Cain waved him off, grabbing his hat and settling it upon his head. He watched as Cain sauntered out. He’d grown in the last fifteen years, his shoulders strong and squared. He held himself with more pride than he had when he was here, his chin raised and his eyes burning like coals from hell. 

“He is still mad at Nihil,” Vergil spoke softly as Aer and Terra slid in, closing the door behind themselves. “Even after all these years, he is mad. I do not think he will ever not be mad…”

“You cannot blame him,” Terra spoke up, voice muffled by the white mask. “His Unholiness was not a kind man to him- to any of you.”

Vergil chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no he was not. I just hope this girl is good for him.”

“Do you know who it is?” Aer questioned curiously as he wandered through the warm bedroom, a light breeze following his every step. 

“Yes,” he replied, a curious expression filtering across his face, “she was one of the Imperator’s girls when she was young. She is not human- none of them ever are, but she even less than the others. It will be an interesting match.”

* * *

The sound of his footsteps echoed through the halls as he made his way towards Dante’s rooms. He had modeled his room after his own when they were still young. Thus, Dante’s was in the newer section of the Abbey. The walls were no longer rough stone but smooth brick and stone mixed, reinforced with steel. 

Dante’s door was open, revealing the lavish office inside. Two Ghouls stood outside- Ghouls Cain was _very_ familiar with. A smile pulled at his lips as Alpha and Omega both jolted to attention, tails wagging. Omega left his post first, skidding across the floor to stop before Cain. The Ghoul chirped, purring low as Cain reached out to cup his masked cheek. Alpha jogged over, already purring by the time he reached Cain. The taller of the two leaned down, his forehead butting against his shoulder roughly before grinding in, very nearly knocking Cain off his feet. Omega tilted his head, nuzzling into the palm of Cain’s hand.

“They never do that with _me_,” came a familiar Italian voice. The two Ghouls did not cease their actions, though they do move to the side. Dante stood in the doorway of his office, a wide smile on his lips. His hair was long- longer than the last time Cain had seen him, falling to brush against the tops of his shoulders.

“You need a haircut.” Cain replied as he pulled away from the Ghouls. 

“You need hair,” Dante countered as he stepped out. A moment passed as the brothers stood, watching one another-

Before Dante was running across the distance and jumping onto Cain, holding onto his older brother as if he were afraid he would vanish if he let him go. Cain wrapped his arms around the youngest Emeritus, holding him close. He ignored the way Dante sniffled or the way his shoulder began to grow damp. He merely held his younger brother close, rubbing his back gently. They stood that way for a while, merely embracing. 

“I am sorry,” Dante whispered finally, pulling back. His cheeks were bright red, his eyes shiny from tears. “I am sorry for saying what I did.”

“You were upset,” Cain shook his head, reaching up to pat his brother’s cheek twice before stepping back. “Now- show me this office of yours so I can know how much redecorating I will need to do.”

A laugh broke free from Dante as he nodded, leading Cain into the office proudly. It was connected to his own rooms, much like Cain’s had been once. The oak desk was large, and covered with paperwork- he couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of that. That was what awaited him, as well as the endless meetings, speeches (which wouldn’t be too much of an issue). He did not look forward to that.

“Have you met with Nihil yet?” Dante questioned as he hopped onto the top of his desk, feet idly swinging, heels clunking back against the wood, creating a hollow echo. “He will want to see you.”

“I haven’t,” Cain muttered, lips drawing thin. “I was going to go to the Cathedral. It has been a while since I have confessed.”

“Ew.” Dante’s voice was blunt, bland. Yet he hopped off the desk, flashing a crooked grin; he’d grown so much in the last fifteen years. No longer the boy he’d once been. “Do you have any idea who your PM is going to be yet?”

“No- do _you_?”

“I have an idea,” Dante hummed as he breezed past his older brother. “But I am not going to tell you!” He stuck his tongue out as he spun on his heel.

A snort left Cain as he shook his head. “Bastardo.” Dante let out an offended noise, but his smile didn’t drop. Cain wandered the office, buying his time, as Dante collapsed back onto his fainting couch. He couldn’t help but laugh; of course Dante would have a damn fainting couch. Why wouldn’t he? It fit his dramatic self far too well.

“... Did you miss us?” Dante asked suddenly, drawing his attention away from the photograph of Dante during his Unholy Baptism. The last thing that Cain had seen, here. 

Cain sighed as he made his way over, leaning against the back of the couch. His arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowing. “I missed you and Vergil. I missed the Siblings. I missed the Abbey. I did not miss Nihil, or Imperator, or any of the Clergy members.”

A soft, thoughtful noise left Dante as he reached up, tugging on the back of Cain’s jacket. “What did you do in America?”

“I helped the other Abbeys. The New York Abbey needed someone to guide their new leader, the Countess, for a while- she was thrown into the position before she was ready. And the New Orleans Abbey needed to be repaired, renovations needed to be done. They are going to be having a new Abbess soon- possibly even a new Unholy Mother. There is a young girl there named Alix… She is strong. She will make a good leader.”

“You sound smitten!”

“I am _not_ smitten with the girl. She is human, and much too young.” He sniffed, shaking his head. “The Los Angeles Abbey is thriving- it has been since… Manson, I believe? Since that whole fiasco.” He waved an idle hand. “Tell me what you have been up to.” 

“I would love to, fratellone, except… I believe I have a date.” Dante grinned, pulling himself up. “And she will be here any moment now.”

“You, a date?” A laugh escaped Cain as he pushed away. “I pity the girl.”

“Hey!”

“I will see you tomorrow, frate.” Cain waved over his shoulder as he left- and true to Dante’s word, a Sibling was making her way down the hall. She froze at the sight of Cain, her eyes going as wide as saucers. He pressed a finger to his lips, watching as she nodded quickly, a smile pulling at her own.

“Welcome back,” she whispered as she passed, and quietly closed the door behind her. The two Ghouls stood outside once more.

“You poor Ghouls,” Cain muttered, snickering to himself. 

“We make bets,” Omega replied with a shrug. 

“About?”

“Depends on the Sibling.” Alpha finished, head tilting. “You are… Remaining?”

A nod. “Vergil’s health… He will officially be stepping down in a month.”

Alpha hummed, leaning back against the stone wall. “Where are you going to?” His English was still clipped, stunted, the low growl still there. 

“To pray, and maybe throw in a Hail Mary or two.” He replied with a shrug, beginning to walk away from the Ghouls. “If Nihil asks for me, say you have not seen me.”

“Of course, Bishop Cain, of course.” Omega’s low tone follows him as he descended the stairs, traveling down to the main floor of the Abbey. The Cathedral was in the center of the Abbey; all hallways lead to it, eventually. The stained glass windows let in the flashes of lightning, rendering the torches useless.

Somewhere in the Abbey, a scream let loose, freezing Cain in his tracks. He listened, straining; when silence followed, he let himself relax. Not a Ghoul fight, nor a Ghoul attacking a human, then. Nodding, he continued on, though his steps fell in a quicker tempo than before. Sunglasses slipped over his eyes as he walked, hiding the Emeritus eyes from view, should he happen to pass by any stray Sibling or Clergy member. The Ghouls would know just by scent who he was.

The Ghouls always fucking knew. 

The large doors to the Cathedral stood closed before him. They were imposing, solid black masses that were heavy, hard to open if you were but a young child. The handles were polished gold. Grucifixes were carved into the wood carefully. The hall behind him was just as elaborate, the floor onyx with flecks of gold inlaid, the walls covered with portraits of Hell, of past Clergy Members and Papas, of Memoria herself, of the Morning Star. Once, he’d felt at home in this hallway.

Now, he felt nothing but a cold breeze. 

He pulled the doors open without struggle, gazing upon the mahogany pews within the nave. They were split into three sections: two on the left, one on the right. There was a large isle running down the center, which curved, the transept creating a Grucifix rather than a cross. Candles, hundreds upon hundreds, were lit, sitting along the walls, upon the altar behind the towering statue of Baphomet. The Divine Goat, sitting with two fingers raised of his left hand, a pentagram behind his head with the Hebrew letters spelling out Leviathan at each point. _Samael_ spelled around the top, _Lillith_ below. The left arm of the Baphomet held the Latin word “_SOLVE_”, which meant to dissolve, while the right bared the Latin word “_COAGULA_”, or to clot. The statue was tall, well over fourteen feet in full height. When one stood directly before it, you had to look straight up to see the goat head completely. 

Slowly, Cain walked forward, taking his time. His footsteps echoed no matter how softly he stepped. To the front right, the choir would sit, now hidden by the rood screen. To the left, where the Prime Movers would sit in the center most isle and the first few pews. Clergy members would sit behind them; everyone else filled in all around. His gaze drifted to the chairs set up to the left of the Baphomet, where he and his brothers would sit. Where Nihil and Imperator would sit. To the right of the statue stood a large stone slab, carved intricately: a sacrifice table. The grooves were meticulously cleaned, no trace of blood remaining within. To the right of the Sanctuary sat the grand organ, it’s pipes stretching high, nearly reaching the painted ceiling. Angels and Demons fought overhead as Lucifer fell, blackened feathers trailing. 

The stairs that led up to the Sanctuary were onyx as well, polished to a shining perfection. The light from the candles reflected in a hazy glow. He could remember kneeling here for his Unholy Baptism; could remember the sting of the blade on his palm, the heady taste of blood and wine mixing on his tongue. Vergil had overseen his Unholy Baptism, just as he had overseen Dante’s. 

Nihil had attended neither one.

Slowly, he knelt upon the floor before the Baphomet, reaching up to remove his hat and set it aside. A deep breath was drawn before he closed his eyes. “Our Father, who art in Hell, Unhallowed be thy name…” He began, voice soft. “I have not been here in quite some time. I am… Afraid. My brother is not well, and I was never supposed to become Papa. But this is part of your plan, yes? For me to take on this role. Why? I am not a trueborn son. I am a bastard. My own father wants nothing to do with me. And yet, tomorrow, I will begin to take over for Vergil.

“I am not asking for guidance. I only ask that you allow my brother to live. He is still so young…” His voice trailed off as tears slipped from beneath closed eyes. “His time cannot be so soon. I did not return just to watch him die, Your Unholiness,” Cain’s voice broke as he leaned forward, pressing his hands against the step before him. “_Non prendere mio fratello_,” he hissed through clenched teeth, the torrent of emotions threatening to spill over.

The sound of a door opening had him stilling, eyes widening behind his glasses. No one would recognize him, right? Right. He remained kneeling, listening as the sharp staccato of heels slowed before stopping. Curiosity got the better of him as he turned, studying the woman curiously. She did not wear the habit of the Sisters; instead, she wore a fitted gown of deep navy and a pair of nude heels. Her hair was deep red that looked nearly black in the light of the candles, and even from here, he could see the vivid blue shade. She startled, eyes widening, before she quickly followed after the short Ghoulette.

A Prime Mover? Or a guest? Both wings were to the East of the Cathedral. Brow furrowing, he watched her leave, listening as the door shut behind her. Alone once more, he turned his attention back towards the Baphomet, studying the Divine Goat. 

It looked as if it were _smiling_. 

He pushed himself up, shaking his head. He should go to his father, get that dreaded task over. He turned on his heel and began to make his way out of the Cathedral, though he couldn’t shake the odd feeling of being watched.

He did not look back at the statue of the Baphomet, missing the way the eyes narrowed.

* * *

The room was warm, nearly stifling so. The fire was well fed, crackling softly. The man sat behind the old mahogany desk, waiting, his light eyes upon the door across from him. He was not blind, despite the fact that both eyes looked to be destroyed by cataracts. His robes were white and gold, made of the finest thread.

He sighed, his gaze leaving the door; a watched pot does not boil. It took only moments for the door to open and the man to walk in. A smile curled his lips as he took in the sight of the man- strong, broad shoulders, he stood tall and proud. His lips were pressed into a thin line. 

“Papa,” the man greeted, giving a stiff bow at the waist, “I have returned upon your  
request.” 

“Cain, come closer, let me see you!” Nihil crooned, reaching out a hand. Cain moved forward stiffly, his brows furrowing as he removed his sunglasses and hat. Nihil hummed, nodding slowly. Cain stood across from him, gripping his hat and sunglasses in one hand. 

“How can you even see me?” Cain mused, head tilting to the side. “You look blind.”

“I am not. I can still see- I see many things, now.” Nihil trailed off, his gaze shifting to the side. 

Cain frowned; he sees many things? That would be a question for later. “... I assume my quarters are still where I left them?” 

“Yes, yes. The rooms do not move here, silly boy!” Nihil cackled, grinning. Cain ground his teeth, but did not reply. “You have seen your brothers?”

“I visited Vergil the moment I arrived. I left him shortly after nine; I have been with Dante since.” So formal; Nihil hummed, nodding slowly.

“You are mad.”

“I have every right to be angry with you. You should have called for me sooner. Vergil’s health is frail; Dante is swimming in paperwork and looks as if he hasn’t slept in a week.” Cain hissed, eyes narrowing. “You act as if they are not your sons.”

“You are my son, as well.” Nihil’s voice was soft, his brows furrowed.

“You never treated me as one. You did not attend my Unholy Baptism. You were too busy fucking some Sibling of Sin.” Cain bit out, shaking his head. “I will meet with you and Sister Imperator in the morning.”

“We have not finished catching up!” Nihil protested, rising to his feet. “Do not go- I wish to know how America was!”

“You can read it in my letters.” Cain replied coldly, stepping back from the desk. His gaze swept across the office- not a single photograph of any of them. “Goodnight, Papa Nihil.” He did not wait, ignoring the sounds that Nihil released- sounds of frustration and anger and sadness. His jaw clenched as he stepped out of the office, slamming the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily as rage coursed through his veins. 

How _dare_ he act like a caring father? After all these years-

After _three hundred and forty seven_ years.

Shaking his head, he stormed away, footsteps harsh bass drum beats within the corridor. He needed to calm down. His father always did have a way of crawling beneath his skin. He paused in the middle of the stairs, drawing in a slow, deep breath. 

The morning, he would meet with Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator. In the morning, he would meet his Prime Mover.

But tonight? Tonight, he would indulge. A smirk curled his lips as he jogged down the stairs, watching as _his_ Ghouls moved forward, flanking him. “I want a bottle of red wine- the good shit, not the stuff they use for Rituals- delivered to my room, per favore. And bring me a Sibling.”

“Any Sibling?”

“As long as they consent, yes. Any Sibling of age.”

Gamma nodded, a smile curling his lips beneath his mask. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“It is _good_ to be home.” Cain purred, rolling his shoulders as he made his way towards his old rooms.

* * *

The door to her room was opened, Sister Imperator standing in the doorway. Dahlia rose to her feet, holding her chin high. “Sister Imperator,” she greeted softly, dipping into a curtsy. The dress she wore was of a deep emerald, clinging to her curves and bosom, ending a few inches above her knees. Her hair she did herself, carefully curling the long red strands into gentle waves. A light blush had been dusted across her cheeks, and a deep red lipstick colored her lips. 

A sight, she made. 

“I hope you got rest last night, dear,” Sister Imperator spoke gently, stepping to the side as Dahlia left the room. Her heels were black, four inches. She wore _His_ colors, as directed by Imperator. Emerald and black. She closed her door behind herself- possibly for the last time, she realized.

“I slept well, thank you.” A short, simple response before a question spilled out. “Will I continue to work beneath you as well, Sister?”

“That is to be decided.” Sister Imperator replied softly as she led Dahlia down the hallway. “... We lost another one last night.”

“Do you think it was because she did not hold enough?” Dahlia mused, her head tilting to the side. “She was young, too. Did the babe survive?” 

“Yes, he did. He’s strong and healthy. His father is heartbroken- we cannot blame him.” She shook her head, brow pinching. 

Dahlia studied her for a moment; her blonde hair was beginning to gray along her temples and hairline. She was growing older, aging faster than Dahlia ever would. Her gaze returned to the floor as they walked. Sister Imperator led her through the Cathedral, following the path she had taken the night before with Cumulus.

“You do not remember him, do you?” Sister Imperator asked, breaking the silence. “Nihil’s second son?”

“I do not. He… Was not around the Abbey much when I was a child.” Dahlia admitted as they began to climb up the main stairwell. Siblings parted for them like the Red Sea, pressing against the railings to give the women room.

Sister Imperator clicked her tongue. “I thought not. Well, this will be a lovely first meeting, yes?”

“... If you say so.” Dahlia muttered, nose scrunching up as they stepped onto the landing and turned down the hall, towards the Clergy’s meeting room. 

Sister Imperator paused, causing Dahlia to halt quickly. The woman reached out, grasping the Prime Mover’s hand. “I do not wish to scare you,” she spoke softly, shaking her head slowly, “but His Unholiness wants this to work. His son has always been… Difficult, when it comes to Prime Movers. For your safety- make this work.”

For her safety. 

She couldn’t manage a proper response, and instead settled for nodding. Sister Imperator nodded as well, and after dropping her hand, began to lead her once more. The red door before them was opened before they ever reached it by a Ghoul in dark robes- robes that did not belong to the Third’s or the First’s Ghouls.

So, he already had Ghouls? How curious. 

Sister Imperator entered first, and motioned for Dahlia to enter afterwards. Papa Nihil was already there, sitting at the head of the table. He grinned at the sight of Dahlia, giving a small wave. The First was present as well, sitting to his father’s left. And beside him…

She felt her stomach drop.

The man from the Cathedral. He stood ram-rod straight, eyes wide at the sight of her. He had no Papal makeup on, not yet. He wouldn’t earn that for another month. 

Cain couldn’t believe it- the woman from the Cathedral stood before him, looking ready to faint- or perhaps slap Sister Imperator. Or Nihil. 

“Prime Mover Dahlia,” Nihil spoke, oblivious to the shift in the air, “meet my second son, Cain Leonardo Emeritus. Your match.”


End file.
